That's her in a self-portrait up top to the left. The rest are hers- she liked brown. I've 35 pages into her journal. She's thirteen and too smart and gushes like a thirteen year old. Too much money, me thinks. They fired a tutor she didn't like and just bought her a horse. About eighty pages into Madame Bovary. The description in Flaubert is to die for. The gushing of thirteen is not a bad thing, as long as its outgrown. Too feel that way again for fifteen minutes would be a marvelous thing. To write like Flaubert -well, it can be done and for longer than fifteen minutes. The print below is from an early edition of Madame Bovary. The watermark tells you where you can buy it if you like.
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